


I'd Probably Still Adore You, With Your Hands Around My Neck

by alyblack



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Advices Beyond The Grave, Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Gay Relationship, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crew as Family, Flint Lost It, Hallucinations, M/M, Spoilers, Thomas Acting As Cupid, Thomas Is A Friendly Ghost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyblack/pseuds/alyblack
Summary: “Every time you walk away from me, I am incapable of taking a breath. My lungs retract as if you had taken its ability to function with you. In the dark, even when I know you are not there, I can’t help but to search for your body in my bed; finding I cannot sleep when I am unable to pull you against my chest. Ages I have spent trying to cope with existing the way I exist in a world built to watch me hang; now, as I live and breathe, at the mere sight of your face lit by the fireplace in my study, I feel the fear draining away. Nothing else matters but you. I have never loved as deeply. I have never wanted anything as I want you. If you demanded me to cut off a limb and offer to you in praise, I would do it without hesitation. The sound of your laughter fills my ears and warm its way down my spine and it’s when I know, beyond a shred of doubt, that we belong together. I love you, my dearest, my darling, my heart.”





	I'd Probably Still Adore You, With Your Hands Around My Neck

The first thought floating through his mind was that this, as everything else, was not real. A number of separate, but equally compelling reasons led him to the unshakable certainty that his mind had been, once more, playing their tricks; the vast emptiness of the sea ahead of them, with no prospects of ever returning home safely, did not help matters. They had been drifting through open waters for days, the food had become scarce, the men’s brawls escalated, blood had been shed and the crew was no longer able to make the ship function properly, if at all.  Every night for as long as they had been there, Flint went to bed and managed to shut his eyes for an hour at a time, trained ears focused on the smallest of sounds, any indication there might be problems on deck, any shout for land at sight, anything. In all of those nights, not a sound came, but he woke all the same.

As it were, sailing for weeks on end, surrounded by nothing, no way of escaping the voices, the fears, the bodies fighting for the same space, was already enough to turn a lesser man mad. The food and clean water shortage only complicated things further. The ticking of boots on the wooden floor outside, traveled to his head as if they were individual blows to his sanity. All he wanted to do was vent the frustration, the anger, the undivided attention of his hatred towards a single, achievable target.

Under the duress of that sort of constriction, it failed to come as a surprised when he heard the rasp of a breath coming from behind his skull; the obvious hallucination came as a welcomed distraction. The only explanation possible, really, since he hadn’t been able to sleep properly.

Regardless of the logical aspects of what he was looking at, the swell of pain in his chest refused to subside until he had been forced to physically remove himself from the room. Bright eyes pierced through the captain’s chambers, pushing him out of the door and into a frenzied run towards the unsavory, but safe, company of his men. Seeing things that weren’t there was not an unknown phenomenon to any pirate worth their salt and the knowledge almost made him feel better for having seen Thomas standing at the most dislocated place he could ever had been, as if a day hadn’t gone by since he had laid eyes upon him last.

It had been the first time, but certainly not the last. Flint had assumed, as most people would’ve under the same or similar circumstances, that seeing one’s dead lover wasn’t meant to consolidate into a continuous state of affairs. He had hoped that once they made it back to Nassau, when their stomachs were filled with food and water, after the rest, the bathing and the peace, Thomas would disappear. The entire time he spent on the ship confined at sea, he hadn’t dared speak to him, address him in any way or venture any glance in his general direction. The last thing the crew had needed was to see their commander speaking to air.

At night, after secluding himself to his bed, he kept his eyes closed more than he would’ve otherwise. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t there if he could’ve hide under the assumption of sleep. However, the very same loneliness which guaranteed his blessed ignorance, made it that much harder to ignore the presence in the room.

Had it been any other moment, at any other place, the sight of Thomas’ face would’ve given him relief beyond measure. He would’ve welcomed the madness if it meant not having to go another day without being able to look at him, touch his hands, hear his laugh. Demoted, arrested, killed, it would be a small price to pay. Now, he couldn’t afford the same liberties; his neck was not the only one facing the slay if he allowed things to slip, even an inch, from the iron grasp needed to ensure survival.

He had hoped; seeing the object of a lifetime of regret, sorry and unbearable love, standing there, smiling and waiting for him. Just as he denied the vision and the words he wished he could’ve told the real Thomas, it did the same right back. It hadn’t said a single word. Now that he was home, cowered up back at the house he had intended to share with Miranda once it was all over, it was still there. Silent, observing, having somehow stolen the wise gaze Lord Thomas upheld against the literate London society and rendered them hopeless at his feet.


End file.
